


Matchmaker, Please

by LadyMerlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blind Date, Car Sex, Coitus Interruptus, Deputy Derek Hale, First Date, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Making Out, Matchmaking!Sheriff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Sheriff said that he wanted to set Stiles up with one of his deputies, Stiles thought he'd be meeting some chubby, doughnut-loving desk sergeant. He definitely wasn't expecting Officer Hale.</p><p>After significant efforts on the Sheriff's part, Stiles takes Officer Hale on their first date.</p><p>(previously titled: Papa Knows Best)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker, Please

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on three gif-sets found on tumblr, starting with [this one](http://danielsharman.co.vu/post/75286919666/sterek-au-when-the-sheriff-said-that-he-wanted-to). Credit to danielsharman for the fantastic idea! I only hope I did it justice <3

“So why don’t you tell me about yourself, Officer Hale?” Stiles asked, as nonchalant as he could possibly manage in the face of, well. In the face of _all that_. Derek Hale was tall and dark and aggressively scruffy and intimidatingly _perfect_. It was a legitimate problem, because Stiles had _never_ had issues with speaking to people in his entire _life_ , and yet there he was, swallowing his own tongue and choking on his drink just because of the way Derek licked his lips.

“You can call me Derek if you want,” Officer Hale offered, and his voice wasn’t as deep as his face (and his body, _oh my_ _God_ ) would have suggested, but it was… _nice_. It was a very nice voice, a little raspy and almost sweet, and Stiles could have listened to Derek speak for hours, though it didn’t seem like Derek was the talkative sort.

“Alright,” Stiles said, because what else could he say? “Derek. I’m Stiles.”

Derek smiled a little shyly, and _wow_ his bunny teeth were _adorable_ , and said, “I know.” Then he seemed to realise exactly what he’d just said, and flushed dark, spots of colour high in his stubbled cheeks (he had the kind of face Stiles wanted between his thighs, _Jesus_ ), obvious even in the dark of the bar.

It occurred to Stiles suddenly that he didn’t want to be in a bar with Derek. He didn’t know the man well, not beyond what his dad had told him, but Derek clearly wasn’t a bar type of person, defying every stereotypical thought Stiles had ever had about policemen. He wasn’t sure _what_ Derek was, but he wasn’t a bar person, and he had a feeling that this date would go much better if they were out in the open air, away from the smoke and the noise and the crowd.

Stiles couldn’t pretend the thought was entirely selfish, though. Getting them out of the bar would also make it easier to maybe mess Derek up a little, to wreck his stupid gelled hair and to see how far down south that blush went, if Derek was so amenable.

And maybe in any other circumstance, he would have thought twice about taking a first date away from a crowded area, but his dad had been shoving Derek at him for _months_ now, and if he knew his dad at all, the Sheriff had probably been shoving him at Derek too. His dad was many things, but he was not a subtle man. At least this date was Dad-Approved™ and as safe as it ever really got.

Maybe this time his dad wouldn’t whip out his old shotgun for “overdue polishing” when Stiles brought him home. Or at least, if he did, Derek wouldn’t run screaming, like his last date had. Honestly, he wasn’t sure where his dad got off, telling him he had bad luck with relationships. Stiles lost more dates because of his _Dad_ than he did because of anything else.

When he finally came back to himself, Derek was watching him quietly, his pint glass cradled gently in both hands, fingertips running absently through the condensation on the surface of the glass. Stiles grinned and ducked his head, a little embarrassed at the shot of _heat_ that had surged through him, for almost no reason. He thought he’d grown out of this reaction, but Derek Hale sent him back to his hideously awkward YA-hood, and it was… interesting.

“You were a million miles away,” Derek noted, and he didn’t sound judgemental at all, which, _bless him._ Stiles had a tendency of getting lost in his own head and he didn’t need someone who looked down at him for that. It was early days still, but it was a good sign that Derek didn’t seem to see it as too big a flaw.

“Sorry Derek, I was. I was just thinking about my dad, and how he scared away my last date by pulling the shotgun out of the attic. I thought maybe you’ll have better luck than that.”

Derek downed the last of his beer and smiled, and he looked _adorably_ shy. Stiles kinda wanted to either pinch his cheeks or to kiss him, and that was _definitely_ a good sign.

“Anyway, do you wanna get out of here?” Stiles asked, fumbling for his wallet in his back pocket. It took him a little longer than it usually would have, because Lydia had stuffed him into jeans that hadn’t fit him properly _five years ago_ , and it was a miracle he’d been able to sit down without ripping something. Still, Derek’s reflexive double take when he’d spotted Stiles had been totally flattering. Bless Lydia’s machinations.

Derek was silent as Stiles fumbled through his wallet for notes, but it was a surprisingly awkward silence, uncharacteristic of Derek. When he looked up to ask what was wrong, Derek looked a little wide eyed and more than a little panicked. Only Derek’s reaction clued Stiles into the potential connotations of what he’d just said, and he backtracked _fast_. “No,” he gasped, accidentally dropping his wallet onto the sticky ground, coins clattering into the peanut debris scattered around their feet. He dove to pick it up and _slammed_ the back of his head into the table on his way up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore, “God fucking damn _ouch_ , no, that’s not what I meant at _all_ Derek, _sorry_ ,” he babbled, trying to explain that he _hadn’t_ been trying to pressure the other man into sex and at the same time trying to blink away the spots of light that had bloomed behind his eyelids.

But by the time he’d stuttered out the explanation, Derek was standing beside him; one large hand on his shoulder and the other stroking the top of his head, fingers running through his hair, as if checking for blood or bumps.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut because his vision was swimming and he _really_ didn’t want the beer to make a reappearance, but even in his compromised state, he couldn’t _not_ think about his position. How, if Derek pushed him a little lower and held him there, he’d not be entirely averse to opening his mouth for the man. Unfortunately, the only way he could manage to get to his knees in _this_ state, was if he fainted. He was hardly a Casanova but even he knew that that was not the best way to start/end a first date. But he did let himself relax into Derek’s hands, letting the steady pressure rub out some of the tension in his head. If he’d been in less pain he’d _definitely_ have been enjoying it.

“You’re right,” Derek said after a moment. “Let’s get out of here.”

Stiles snorted and the movement surprisingly _didn’t_ hurt as much as it had a minute before. “I’ve got a bad habit of opening my mouth and putting my foot in it. You sure I haven’t scared you away?” he asked, looking up at Derek, tentatively hopeful. Derek’s hand in his hair was a pretty good indicator that Derek wasn’t going anywhere (or he’d have high tailed it out of the bar _alone_ , the minute Stiles had unintentionally propositioned him), but Stiles had been wrong about worse things before.

Derek looked back at him, and even though his face was serious, his eyes were laughing in a way Stiles had never seen anyone manage before. He really was gorgeous. “I think you’re pretty cute, actually.” Even Derek looked a little surprised at what he’d said, but no less sincere for it, and that made it officially the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Stiles except that one time Scott had told him he was prettier than the Little Mermaid when he was ten, and the stuff his dad said every now and then because he was legally obliged to be nice.

Derek snorted, and Stiles realised that once again, his brain-mouth-filter had failed in its duties, but Derek didn’t seem to mind. “You’ve got fairly low standards then,” Derek said, helping Stiles to his feet. He was a little wobbly, but steadied quickly, propped up against Derek’s shoulders ( _holy fuck,_ his _shoulders_ ).

Stiles didn’t bother responding because they were making their way out of the bar and there were stairs to navigate; there was no time to ask Derek whether he’d actually ever _seen_ himself. When they finally got out, the cool night air was a relief. Stiles was feeling increasingly steady, and he managed to walk on his own, even though he didn’t really want to take his hands off Derek’s shoulders; he didn’t want Derek to take his hands off _his_ waist.

“People are going to think I got absolutely _plastered_ ,” he said, grinning a little. The reports that his father got would be worrying at worst, _hilarious_ at best. Derek scowled a little, looking equally reluctant to stop touching Stiles.

“People are going to think _I_ got you plastered.” Derek looked genuinely upset at that, and that really sucked. Stiles wasn’t always the nicest person, and he wasn’t the most stand-up guy in town (that prize went to Danny fucking Mahealani), but he didn’t want Derek’s reputation to suffer, just because he’d taken a chance on Stiles. That would be the suckiest thing ever.

Stiles huffed a little laugh, and he wasn’t bitter, _really_. He knew his reputation around town, and it was okay. He’d lived his childhood to the fullest, and _most_ people didn’t begrudge him of it. “Derek, this is a really small town. I think you’re a pretty quiet dude, but I’m definitely not. I’ve been arrested four times, _thrice_ by my own father, and there’s an old lady living around here somewhere who tried to have me exorcised when I was twelve. If I know anything, and I do, you’ll be getting sympathy flowers from Deputy Maureen tomorrow morning because of that one time I accidentally set her hair on fire, and someone will have uploaded a video of us onto youtube. Don’t worry. If anyone’s going to get blamed, it’s me, and rightfully so. No one will blame _you_ for me being a hot mess.” For that, Stiles was _glad_. 

Derek was silent a long moment, and then, “exorcised?”

Stiles laughed again, more freely, and followed Derek towards his car. It was a really nice car. Stiles bit back his compliments, because he hadn’t managed to compliment Derek for his face yet; he wasn’t going to start with his _car_. “Are you heading home?” he asked instead, because he wasn’t ready for the night to end. Not yet. Despite everything that had happened till then.

Derek froze in the process of tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He should have looked threatening, but just looked really adorable. “Not unless you are?” Derek asked in return, sounding equally nervous.

Stiles ran a nervous hand through his hair (his head hurt a lot less, thank _god_ ). “Do you wanna go for a walk?” he asked, feeling more than a little bashful. Derek flushed again, and god, Stiles would have done _many_ illegal things for the sight of his adorable bunny teeth and the dusky blush under his scruff. It was more than a little heady that all it took was a simple invitation for a walk.

“Where do you want to go?” Derek asked, voice steady.

“We could always take your penis car out to the Preserve and get some ice cream for our walk, if you want.” There. That had struck the right balance between comedy and sincerity. Derek looked half affronted and half flattered, which meant he’d taken it the right way.

“Well, that depends,” he replied, surprisingly. Stiles had been expecting a straightforward rejection.

“On what?”

“On what flavour ice cream you were planning on,” Derek said, and really, it _was_ turning into the perfect date.

The preserve was dark and quiet. The night was silent and still, and the moon was huge in the sky, and they didn’t have to talk much to enjoy each others’ company. It felt, oddly enough, like they’d known each other for much longer than just one evening, even though it wasn’t possible that he’d met Derek before and then _forgotten_ him. It just wasn’t possible. And while first dates normally involved chatter, and Stiles was genetically predisposed towards chatter, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

It was a new sensation.

He liked it. Every now and then Derek offered an anecdote about his sister, with more than a little pain in his voice, and Stiles gave up on resisting the urge to hold his hand and _squeeze_. Just two guys on a walk, holding hands. Nothing to see there, really.

In return, he told Derek about the attempted exorcism, Scott, and his Mother. It was definitely heavy for a first date, but there was almost no question that there would be a second date, and a third date after, if Stiles had any say in the matter.

Derek was solid beside him, his hand was warm in Stiles’ own, and his presence was comforting. Stiles knew there was a saying about girls falling in love with men like their fathers (thanks, Scott), but that was ridiculous. It didn’t give Derek nearly enough credit. He liked Derek for himself, not because he reminded Stiles of the Sheriff. Yeah, sure, his dad was solid and reliable and warm too, but a correlation did not imply causation, thanks very much.

He dropped his dad a text anyway, because he didn’t want him to worry. Derek didn’t seem to mind, waving away his apologies but not letting go of Stiles’ hand. It was nice. It was almost like Derek had forgotten it was there, like it was so comfortable he didn’t feel the need to worry about it. Stiles had always had strong opinions about casual contact, and he got the feeling Derek had the same feelings about cuddling as he did. That was important too.

The minutes slipped away like they were nothing, hours flying past before they’d even realised what had happened. It was late. Later than either of them had intended it to be, and Stiles jumped when he got a text from Scott, asking if he was still alive. He snorted and showed Derek the text, and instead of the laugh he expected, Derek just squeezed his hand a little tighter. He didn’t mind, of course, but it was an odd response, and when he turned to look at Derek, there was a strange expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, wondering if he’d done something wrong by showing him Scott’s text.

Derek nodded, and cleared his throat. “May I…” he trailed off, turning to face Stiles fully. They’d stopped walking. He was blushing again, Stiles just _knew_ it, and he just wished he could see it. “I want…” he trailed off again and his gaze flickered to Stiles’ lips and back up again, and Stiles understood exactly what Derek was asking.

Stiles grinned, and took the first step where Derek couldn’t, moving into his space more than he had done the entire evening. He guided Derek’s free hand onto his hip and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a soft, chaste kiss. Derek didn’t hesitate, leaning forward and holding him close at the same time, deepening the kiss into something wet, and hot, and almost dirty. Their lips didn’t part, but Stiles did his best to make Derek moan anyway, gratifyingly loud in the quiet night.

Breaking the kiss was hard, but it was made easier by the fact that Derek had hooked his thumbs into the back of Stiles’ (obscenely tight) jeans, and his palms were almost _definitely_ in butt territory. That decided it for him.

“So, would you say you’re pretty conservative?” Stiles asked, licking his lips and wondering at the taste of _Derek_ on his tongue.

Derek blinked, possibly still dazed from the kiss. Stiles didn’t blame him. He was a very good kisser. “I… no?” And that was really good enough.

“Wanna go back and make out in your car? Nothing else, if you don’t want to, it’s just a little nippy out here and I want to kiss you properly.” Stiles was a pretty normal dude, but if he had one superpower, it was the ability to say outrageous things that would have others blushing and stuttering, with a straight face. It was a pretty awesome superpower and had saved him from many a punishment in school. Still, it had never been more awesome than now, when it made Derek swoop in an press a hard kiss on his open mouth, clacking their teeth together. That was the _best_ response he’d ever got to being straightforward.

He didn’t remember the walk back to the car, really, not when Derek draped his buttery soft leather jacket over Stiles’ shoulders and snuggled into him, keeping him close and warm.

When they got back to the car, he opened the door for Derek, who blinked but got into the passenger seat. Stiles shrugged off the jacket and tossed it into the back of the car, hoping Derek wouldn’t mind its ill treatment. But Derek’s nipples were hard, showing through the thin Henley, and he wanted to _touch_.

Just when Derek was about to ask, he got in too, throwing one leg over Derek’s lap so Stiles was straddling him, face-to-face with the man of his dreams. He pulled the door shut, grinning at the words springing into his head, fully formed. “You must be really cold,” he said, glancing up at Derek from under his eyelashes. Derek’s breath was loud in the silence and his eyes wide with surprise, but there was no hint on his face that he was uncomfortable, or that he didn’t want it. “Let me warm you up,” he finished, brazenly dragging a thumb across one of Derek’s nipples, relishing the harsh intake of breath, enjoying the way Derek seemed to simultaneously tense up, and melt underneath him.

“God, where did you come from?” Derek asked, wondering and clearly consenting, which was all the confirmation Stiles had needed from him.

“No idea,” Stiles responded, leaning in and pressing their chests together, rubbing past Derek’s nipple again, tugging on the little patch of chest hair that showed in the vee of his neckline, “but I’m here to stay, as long as you want me.”

And then they were kissing, definitely dirty this time, open mouthed and panting. Derek’s hands were firmly on his ass and he used the leverage to haul Stiles in, spreading Stiles thighs until they ached and his jeans protested. Derek was solid underneath him, and warm, and insistent. Stiles wanted to drink him in, and did, holding him still with his fingers almost wrapped around Derek’s neck, rasping across the stubble on his jawline.

Stiles licked and sucked and nibbled on Derek’s mouth, his lips and tongue and teeth, and Derek gave as good as he got, tangling their tongues together and thrusting into his mouth, like a promise. It took Stiles a moment to realise that _he’d_ been making the high-pitched, embarrassing noise, but it didn’t look like Derek minded.

It was easy to slide his fingers into Derek’s thick hair and _tug_ , making him groan into the kiss. It was easy to destroy Derek’s careful hairdo and make his hair stand on end, like he’d been electrocuted. It was easy to be doing all of this, to be touching and sharing space, and heat, and the breath from their lungs. It was almost _too_ easy to forget that they’d met mere hours ago, and go for the front of Derek’s jeans, before realising what he was doing. He froze and Derek did too, responding to him like he hadn’t realised Stiles’ misstep. _Then_ he noticed Stiles’ hands, pressed between their bodies, intent clear.

Stiles coughed awkwardly, because god, he wasn’t that kind of guy. But he’d forgotten, with Derek. Derek studied his wide eyes, and he _knew_ his pupils were ridiculously blown, and anyone would have smelled the _lust_ on the pair of them.

“Do you,” Derek asked before clearing his throat, his lips and tongue sore from kissing, “do you want to?”

Derek must have realised it was a dumb question almost immediately, because _duh_ , but Stiles appreciated him asking it anyway. “Only if you want to. I know I can be a little impuls—” but before he could finish his sentence, Derek had sunk his teeth into Stiles’ neck, and that was the _best_ green light he’d ever received in his _life_.

He moaned out loud, shameless and almost too loud for the confined space, but Derek was worrying a truly impressive hickey onto his neck, so he went for it. He fumbled with Derek’s fly for a minute, and even when he managed to get it undone, there was no space between them for much movement. It hardly mattered. Derek had pulled his shirt to a side and was biting another bruise into his shoulder, and god, Stiles was just melting into it. When he finally touched Derek’s dick through the thin fabric of his underwear (Boxers? Briefs? Stiles couldn’t tell) Derek _froze_ , face pressed into his neck.

Stiles let out a shuddering breath and touched again, unable to really do anything except brush his fingers against it, to gauge the size of it, the weight, and the heat. He stroked it with the back of his knuckles, and when Derek gasped like he’d been punched, he did it again, harder. Derek was obscenely hot, and his dick was too, solid and warm against his hand, and thick enough that Stiles was already looking forward to choking on it.

He gathered his courage and rubbed again, pressing Derek’s cock between his own body and Stiles hand. Derek bucked, _hard_ , nearly dislodging Stiles from his seat, and whined like he wanted more. He was rubbing his stubble against the soft skin of Stiles’ neck and he was going to have some truly impressive beard-burn, but he did not _care_ , not when he could feel

Stiles had never imagined he’d do anything to fog up the inside of a car, but this was _it_. The windows were misting up and his mouth was watering. Just using his hand wasn’t enough. He was going to get on his knees, pull down Derek’s underwear and _swallow him whole._ Stiles could feel the phantom ache in his jaw, and he pressed his palm against the bulge in his own jeans, unable to even adjust himself in their vice grip.

And when he opened his mouth to ask if he could, there was a knock on the window.

They both froze.

“Officer Hale, please roll down the window,” came a voice, muffled but not indistinct. A flashlight came on and shone through the window, creating a no-doubt fascinating tableau through the fogged up glass.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Derek swore and that was actually _hilarious_. Stiles just grinned and shifted closer to Derek, pressing his body against Derek’s cock. Derek glared, looking like a murderous but very flustered grizzly bear, his eyebrows furrowed impressively. Stiles just grinned, because despite his annoyance, Derek knew perfectly well his erection could have taken someone’s eye out, and it was better-off hidden by Stiles’ body than out in the open for the world to see.

The person knocked again. “Officer Hale, I know you’re in there.”

He rolled down the window, and squinted up at Deputy Maureen, who was looking down at them with amusement written across her features. Stiles beamed sunnily at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Corrupting your father’s officers, Stiles? I thought you knew better.”

“I’ll have you know,” Stiles said, calmly, like he wasn’t sporting a hard-on, straddling another man in the passenger seat of a car, “this was a Sheriff-approved date. A Sheriff-initiated date. He’ll be more likely to throw a party than anything else, really.”

“Should’ve known,” she replied, cheerily, completely unaffected by how distressed Derek was becoming. Stiles wanted to be amused, but Derek was clearly a more private person than he was, and his discomfort wasn’t something that pleased Stiles. He wanted Derek to be comfortable and happy, not tense and upset.

“Is there anything we can do for you, Deputy?” he asked, hoping she’d get the hint.

She studied him, knowingly. “No, Stiles, but I don’t have to remind you that this is bordering on public indecency. Don’t think I don’t know you’re the one who let it get to this stage. Derek’s a nice boy and I know you all too well.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Stiles agreed, but didn’t say anything else. Despite everything that had happened between him and the Deputy, they _did_ like each other. They’d known each other for too long for Deputy Maureen to see him as anything other than a grown-up nephew, or a bratty younger brother.

She sighed. “Well, I won’t say anything to your father, Stiles, I’m sure he’ll want the good news from you. But get decent and go home. Or get indoors, at least. I don’t need early morning runners calling the Sheriff’s office and reporting a public nuisance outside the Preserve. Honestly Stiles, you could’ve at least gone to Raven’s Peak.”

Stiles shrugged, because it was true. The Police Department didn’t even bother patrolling the unofficial ‘make-out’ point of Beacon County; it wasn’t worth their time. “We got carried away.”

She looked at him, and he knew he probably looked like he’d been mauled. Which, he kinda had. “I can see that. But whatever. I’m glad you two are happy. I’ll leave you to it,” she said, briskly wrapping it up. She clicked off her flashlight, but he could still see her figure through the sun-spots in his vision. “Go home, Stiles.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, snapping a sloppy salute with a hand that had, until ten minutes before, been touching Derek’s very nice cock. She flapped a hand at him and got into her own cruiser to drive away.

Derek looked absolutely _mortified_ , and it was one of the funniest things Stiles had ever seen. He was laughing even before the window rolled up, face pressed into Derek’s neck, and fingers tight around fistfuls of Derek’s impossibly soft Henley. There was no denying the erections pressed between them, almost undiminished by the fact that they’d been interrupted by Derek’s colleague, and a woman who’d known Stiles almost as long as he’d known his own mother.

“Oh my god,” Derek breathed, and even his voice sounded embarrassed, but Stiles knew better than to take offence, because Derek’s palms were cupped firmly around his own ass, and there were bubbles of heat fizzling deep in Stiles’ belly.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but instead laved his tongue across as much of Derek’s neck as he could access, savouring the salty taste of his skin. Derek’s stubble was prickly and perfect against his tongue, and he knew he’d be sore in loads of places in the morning. He just wanted to be sore in other places too.

He pulled at Derek’s swollen lower lip with his teeth, licking away any sting before biting his chin, and then his stupid jawline. Derek’s hips bucked slightly, circling into the press of Stiles’ weight like he couldn’t really control himself. He moaned out loud when Stiles nibbled at his earlobe, and sighed, shaky and blissed out, when Stiles kissed him softly behind his ear, impossibly gentle. “Imperfect ending to an otherwise perfect date, huh?” Stiles whispered into the ear closest to him.

Derek growled in the back of his throat, and Stiles shivered a little. “Well, it gives us something to work towards?” Even though the words were tentative, Stiles understood what Derek was really asking.

He huffed a laugh which turned into a sob when Derek pressed his own knuckles against the front of Stiles’ jeans, harder and rougher on the upstroke than was polite; so exquisitely _perfect_ that Stiles thought he could cry from the shocks of pleasure running up his spine. “Take me home,” he gasped, unashamed at the need in his own voice.

Derek pressed his fingers against the bruises already blooming on Stiles’ neck and shoulder; pressed until Stiles felt the sting, and then licked to soothe it. When Derek spoke with his face pressed into Stiles’ neck, his words were muffled but Stiles knew exactly what he’d said. “I’m never going to let you go.”

“ _Yes_ ,” was all Stiles breathed, because that sounded _perfect_ to him. Derek was _incredible_ , a better fit for him than any blind date he could have imagined in his life. He’d expected a good date, but this had got so intense, so _fast_ that Stiles could see nothing _but_ a future for them, and it looked like Derek agreed.

"We'll just have to remember to send your dad a fruit basket," Derek said as they drove away, and Stiles had to laugh, because yeah. Yeah, they owed him one. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was expecting this to be a quick drabble, the first of the year, but I started work this past week and things got intense really fast, both in RL and in this fic. It's not been beta-read because I wanted to get it up before I got sucked into work again. Forgive me for any mistakes that might have been made, as I wrote this entire thing in the dead of the night, when I got access to my own laptop.


End file.
